The Past Is A Work Of Art,

But To Die Of Laughter--this, Too, Seems To Me A Great Euthanasia.

Has The Gift Of Laughter Been Withdrawn From Me? I Protest That I Do Still, At The Age Of Forty-seven, Laugh Often And Loud And Long. But Not, I Believe, So Long And Loud And Often As In My Less Smiling Youth. And I Am Proud, Nowadays, Of Laughing, And Grateful To Any One Who Makes Me Laugh. That Is A Bad Sign. I No Longer Take Laughter As A Matter Of Course.

Nobody Ever Died Of Laughter.

What A Lurid Life Oscar Wilde Does Lead - So Full Of Extraordinary Incidents. What A Chance For The Memoir Writers Of The Next Century

Reverence Is A Good Thing, And Part Of Its Value Is That The More We Revere A Man, The More Sharply Are We Struck By Anything In Him (and There Is Always Much) That Is Incongruous With His Greatness.